


Violation

by quinngrey



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gang Rape, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinngrey/pseuds/quinngrey
Summary: In which Mairon has a real bad time and Melkor makes the perpetrator’s pay for touching his things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even know. I’m sorry. Mairon doesn’t deserve this. 
> 
> This fic is set after ‘Possession’ and honestly I just don’t know why I wrote this. It’s mean. Really mean.

The dark blossom of bruises along his neck cannot be hid easily with high collars or intricate jewels. They were sensitive to the touch, but worse, he could feel them smart every time he breathed or moved his head. It had been five days since his Master expressed his jealousy and possession, five days since he had been touched, five days since Melkor had spoken to him. There were few things the Vala could do to him that Mairon considered truly cruel, but the silence was worse than he could have deemed imaginable. 

Frustration coursing through his blood, he took to the training arena and began to pick fights with anyone and everyone who would dare. Mairon was quick on his feet, dagger in one fist and sword in the other. One orc had nearly bested him, the tip of his blade slashing his thin tunic across the chest drawing a thin line of blood. His eyes glowed as he lunged at the other, dagger sinking in between the chains of his chest plate just below the rib. Dark blood splashed onto the dirt floor, the orc howling in pain as his meaty hands grabbed fistfuls of Mairon’s hair.

His sword clattered on the ground then, losing his grip in favour of trying to free himself. They were too close together for the sword to be useful, he couldn’t get a decent swing in anyway. Yanking the dagger from the orc’s flesh, he had half a mind to cut the bastard’s hands off for daring to grasp his hair, but something stopped him as he grit his teeth. A foot had struck him behind the knees, knocking him to the ground as a second orc had joined into the fight. Suddenly sparring seemed a bad choice, not expecting to find himself in such a position. 

A third orc reached for his wrist, the hand holding the blood covered dagger twisted until the blade fell to the ground beside the sword. Having exhausted himself physically and mentally in the past few days, he was in no condition to fight back in the way he wished. His eyes closed briefly, trying to will himself to change shape, to abandon his corporeal form, but couldn’t. Even still he struggled as the hands in his hair forced him to his knees, the sound of ugly laughter ringing in the air. 

“The Dark Lord’s little slut,” one of them announced in black speech from behind him and Mairon struggled against the hold in his hair. He kicked the orc in front of him, but the action merely earned him a slap across the face. “Ain’t no need t’deny it. We’s all seen the pair of ye,” the one holding firm to his crimson locks spat in the common tongue, his grotesque hand fishing around below a layer of maile before exposing his cock. 

Mairon couldn’t help but gag at the smell, pungent as it burned his nostrils. A hand, he knew not who it belonged, captured his ankle and another set of hands tore his leggings up the side, splitting the fabric without care. The Maia thrashed against the hold, shouting obscenities and threats in both the common tongue and black speech, yet hands continued to grab him until he was pinned to the floor on his stomach. 

His head was yanked up as an orc, the one holding his hair, knelt in front of him. The beast’s free hand forced him jaw open and Mairon’s eyes went wide as he struggled to evade what he knew was coming. Disgustingly vile creature… The cock slid into his mouth in a quick motion and didn’t stop until it hit the back of his throat. He thought he might vomit, yet instead he only managed to gag and cough as his throat spasmed against the intrusion. Although he tried to bite down, to sever the cock from its owner, his jaw was still held painfully open. 

The orc fucked down his throat, grunting unintelligible sounds, as the others laughed. Mairon’s face burned with many emotions, mortified and so undeniably angry. He could feel his clothes being torn, ripped off him until they hung in tatters, hardly covering him at all. Struggling as he felt his legs parted, his hips and knees scraped the ground, dirt and sharp stone gritting into the fresh wounds. When at last the orc at his mouth was near his end, he withdrew his cock and spilled across Mairon’s face, hot and sickeningly sour drops landing on his tongue. 

His head was released, dropping unceremoniously so that his cheek pressed into the dirt as he tried to spit the remnants of taste from his mouth. Another orc has already stepped up, kneeling in front of his head once more, and gave him a twisted grin as he held up some sort of metal and leather device. It looked familiar, but it wasn’t until his mouth was pried open once more and the spider like legs were hooked that he realized why he knew it. The piece was a type of gagging device, one like his master had instructed him make many years ago, and it was designed for the jaw to be forced open while things could be inserted into the mouth without much effort. 

Immediately he realized he was drooling, the leather strap tightened behind his head, lips forced wide open, and Mairon felt shame. The second cock filled his mouth a moment later, thicker than the last, and his tongue could feel the metal bulbs and bars through the flesh. At least this one didn’t go so deep. He felt his arse slapped before he realized that someone was between his legs, those coarse hands pulling him up by the hips. As one orc used his mouth, another’s filthy tongue had found his hole. Despite himself, he groaned at the feeling of it and instantly regretted the sound. 

“Hear that! The slut likes when ye fuck his arse with yer tongue!” One of them announced, though he wasn’t sure from where. The tongue forced its way inside, chipped teeth skimming his skin in the meanwhile, and Mairon had to close his eyes tightly and truly concentrate on not responding vocally to the sensation. “His cock is gettin’ hard!” And damn them all, he knew it was the truth, for though he hated this, his form betrayed him against his will. 

A rough hand tugged his cock, stroking him to full hardness, and Mairon hadn’t even realized what was happening until the orc in front of him came down his throat. He gagged again at the taste as a hand covered his opened mouth, another to block his nose, forcing him to swallow it or not breathe. When he finally managed it down, bile burned his esophagus, but did not come the full way up. Another cock replaced the last. 

The tongue disappeared, but all too quickly the situation changed. The orc between his legs was pressing against his hole with his own cock now, forcing himself into the resistant orifice. Tears instantly filled his eyes from the pain, the stretch too much without any oil or real preparation. Assaulted at both ends, Mairon was helpless as he had ever been in his life. Neither took mercy on him, and when one finished, another orc was quick to take his place. Soon, tears and drool both spilled to the dirt ground and his whole body shook from being used so mercilessly. 

He had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, had tried to lose himself in his own thoughts, but it was no use. The jeers were loud and echoed in his head. Try as he might, he couldn’t feel his Master’s mind, couldn’t reach out. Mairon was alone and there was little he could do but accept being torn apart by these beasts. 

At some point he had lost track of just how many and how much time he had suffered through. His entire being ached, desiring reprieve. Behind him he felt the thick and viscous release of entirely too many spilling from his hole down his legs. Mairon barely registered when at last he was flipped onto his back, and a meaty hand tugged painfully at his cock, forcing his completion. His eyes had glazed over, and against every wish he had, his back arched at the release. So quickly had it begun, so quickly it ended, and so quickly every orc that had touched him was pulling away. Not one bothered unfasten the gag, his sore jaw and split lips still jarred open. 

When a few long minutes had passed, the last of the footsteps fading, he found himself completely and utterly alone. The Maia’s weak fingers went to the back of his head, fumbling until the gag came undone. Pulling it from between his lips, his jaw cracked loudly in the now quiet arena, and he couldn’t help sob his relief that it was over. Curling in on himself, his body wouldn’t stop shaking, even when he buried his face into his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. It took nearly an hour before he was able to get to his feet, limping the entire way, clothes shredded and concealing nothing. His hands grasped the wall as he went down the corridor for support. 

Mairon reached his rooms what felt like an eternity later, collapsing to the floor the moment the door was shut and locked behind him. For the first time he looked down at his body, skin covered in bruises and scrapes, dirt and semen, blood and grime. He was filthy, inside and out, and he couldn’t even manage to crawl to the bath to rid himself of the evidence. 

A knock at the door jolted him, head snapping up too quickly. The room spun, and it took a moment to settle once more. Another knock, his name. That voice… Clearing his throat, he leaned his head against the door. “Master…?” Eru, was that his voice? He sounded horrid, pathetic, weak. “A moment…”

Struggling, he used the iron handle of the door to pull himself up once more, unlocking the door and peeking only his head out. Melkor’s eyes met his, and the Maia averted his gaze in an instant. He knew what just his face looked like, bruised, scraped, dirty. The Vala pushed the door open, strong arms circling his waist to catch him as he stumbled backward. Blackened fingers caressed his cheek, and Mairon thought he saw concern etched in his Master’s mighty brow. “I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to get out of the other’s hold, but it was no use. Melkor held him firm and steady.

“Hush, Mairon,” he sighed, holding the Maia to his chest as he inspected for damages. He did not ask who, brushing against the other’s mind until images flashed into his head. It was all too clear what had happened. The very edges of his being crackled with disapproval, thinly veiled anger threatening to boil over. Cavernous walls throughout the fortress rumbled ominously as he carefully hoisted Mairon up, carrying him through to the bath. As soon as his Maia was taken care of, he would make the creatures who dared violate his lieutenant suffer.


	2. Cleaned and Comforted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melkor finds Mairon after and cares for him.

The water was never hot enough for him, no matter how much steam wafted into the cool air. Melkor had tried, and while it was near boiling, it still wasn’t enough. Sinking down into the tub, the ends of Mairon’s hair floated around him like tendrils until dark hands collected the strands together. Using a scoop of the cream that his Maia bathed with, he massaged the dirt and grime from his scalp, smoothing the tangled locks. He could feel Mairon tensing under his fingers all the while, and though the other was facing away from him, he could only imagine the other’s expression.

“Talk to me, little flame,” he tried, coaxing and calm. “I want to help you…”

Mairon brought his hands to his face, the water washing away some of the disgusting remnants of the violation, but still he wondered if he would ever feel clean again. “I told you that I am fine,” he sighed, but his voice was lackluster, tone flatter than it had ever been. “You do not need to tend to me…” The Maia didn’t want his Master to see him like this, not by anyone else’s hand, especially not after the Vala had punished him for openly flirting. It made his stomach turn, realizing that if he had just held his wine better maybe none of this would have happened in the first place.

With soapy palms, Melkor let his hands trail from scalp to neck, careful of the deep bruises he had left there days before. No need to resurface the old, not when he was tending to the new. Mairon shivered under his touch, pulling away just slightly, but the Vala carefully guided him back. “I want to tend to you, my love,” he offered, gently caressing the dirt from the other’s skin. The words seemed to have an affect on him, relaxing him even just the most miniscule amount. He was covered in small, angry, red scrapes and lesions, likely from putting up a fight, and for a moment Melkor couldn’t help but be proud that Mairon hadn’t given in easily. 

Head falling forward, nose brushing the water, Mairon allowed his Master to wash him. Still, he shivered from the cold of the room and the feeling of being touched so soon after the assault. When those strong hands dipped below the water, fingers brushing against his chest and stomach, he couldn’t stop the racing of his heart, balling his fingers so that his nails bit at his palms. 

Melkor did not stop, despite seeing the small signs of panic that welled up in his Maia, instead choosing to murmur soft words instead. “You are okay, it is only me… You are doing so well, Mairon… I will not harm you…” Though his fists were still tight, he leaned back against the wall of the tub and let the other do as he wished, eyes shutting as his head turned away. “Good, my little flame… Just like that…”

The Vala’s arms went ever further down, careful as his hands began to part the abused thighs, but Mairon couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped his lips, snapping his legs together and shaking his head. Tears had started to fall already, burning hotter than the water as it streaked down his face, mortified he was even having such a reaction. “Please, not there… Please… Sorry… Please, just not there…”

“You must do it then,” Melkor reminded him, “as you cannot allow that filth to stay in your body…”

Shifting in the tub, Mairon pressed his face into the crux of his Master’s neck, breathing too quickly that he felt light headed. “I can’t… I cannot do it,” he pleaded, though he knew not what he was asking. Did he want the Vala to do it, did he want to do it himself, or was it not easier to just leave it and hope that the bath water would cleanse him well enough? Even as he spoke, Melkor was rubbing tentative circles against the sharp jut of his hips, one blackened hand gliding between the cleft of his arse. 

Mairon’s arms weakly went around the other’s neck, holding himself impossibly close. When a finger breached his stretched and abused hole, a sob wrenched itself from his chest. Everything was fire and pain, agony, and Void, the memory of taking it because it was all he could do. He felt dirty, disgusting, not worthy of his Master’s touch now. If those vile creatures ever saw him in such a state! Pathetic, he realized, wincing as the other’s fingers worked his pained flesh clean. 

“There… that’s better,” Melkor hummed, helping Mairon settle once more in the tub, untangling the arms around his neck then. The Maia’s eyes had started to glaze over, obviously trying to pull himself together, stop feeling, as he often did when he was struggling internally. External pain was something he felt more equipped to deal with, but when he hurt emotionally he tended to shut down. Melkor knew the pattern well, after all. He was the one who most often drove Mairon to this.

The two sat in quiet, the distant thrumming somewhere far off the only sound for the longest time. Head falling back against Melkor’s shoulder, Mairon stared off in the distance until he felt his Master’s kiss at his temple. Blinking, his vision blurred before the Vala came into focus. His mouth felt dry, the taste of orc after orc still on his tongue. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, averting his gaze after a moment. “You do not like when others touch me…”  
“I do not,” Melkor agreed, bringing his blackened fingers to brush across Mairon’s cheek. “And I shall remind all who participated, I assure you.”

The thought of the Vala seeking justice on his behalf warmed him more than the bath could have. Slowly, his entire form aching in protest, he made to stand. He wanted to be dry, to be curled up against his Master, to feel the strong arms of protection and, dare he think it, love, wrapped around him. Melkor guided his movements, tentative and cautious to dry and dress the Maia. Leading them back to the bed chambers, the Vala helped him into bed and pulled him close, thick blankets covering them as he murmured soft words into his damp crimson hair.


	3. Pink Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mairon acts as if nothing happened and Melkor knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooooooo sorry this took ages to write. It's not even the update y'all deserve, but it's an update.

The days following were almost a complete blur. Mairon had risen even earlier than usual, slipping from the bed and dressing in his most ornate robes before Melkor had a chance to see him nude. He avoided even quick glances into the looking glass, opting instead to braid his hair simply down his back. Every inch of skin was covered blow his chin, high collars and long gloves quickly becoming a staple. Head lifted, he refused to let anyone the pleasure of seeing him less than his best. 

As an Ainu, his physical form healed much more rapidly than that of Eru’s other creations, yet the deep flourish of bruises did not want to fade. It was likely because of the damage to his fea, but he pushed that thought far from his mind with a hint of disgust. Mairon was infinitely stronger than the Children, who he had personally tortured time and time again, saw them function with worse hurts than he had faced. He didn’t think that he had any reason to hold onto this event. 

There was also the way that Melkor had assured him he would bestow an appropriate punishment to all those who participated. It was a comfort, even if he denied needing any comfort at all. By the time that he made it to his desk in the throne room, neglected severely in his brief absence, Mairon had rationalized that he would throw himself into his duties and move past the entire event. By doing this, he would find some semblance of peace in his own head. 

Organizing the stacks of papers and reports than had come in was tedious, but kept him busy until Melkor had entered the room and his mere presence radiated throughout the chamber. Glancing up from the scroll he had been analyzing, he realized that his Master was staring at him. “My Lord?”

“What is it you are doing, Mairon? You’re supposed to be resting,” he chided, a hint of some gentleness in his voice. 

“This is restful, Master.”

The Vala had a doubtful expression, his dark brow raised skeptically at the comment, but Mairon simply resumed his work. There was nothing to talk about beyond that, he determined. Behind on work from missing all those hours, Mairon would not lay idling in bed. To do so would only aid him in withering, and the Maia had no intention of doing such a thing.

Hours seemed to pass in silence, his Lord upon his throne and him attending his work. The silence broke as one of the orc captains plowed through the large doors, a gaggle of his troop clambering behind. Glancing up from his work, Mairon felt his stomach churn. The captain was one of the brutes from the… event. His gaze immediately fell to the partially finished map he had been working on, the quill between his fingers halted just above the parchment. 

Melkor had noticed the change in his lieutenant, the way the aura around him diminished in its glow ever slightly, darkening around the edges. The orc at the base of the dias reported of an elf encampment not far off, rambling about their munitions and numbers, but the Vala was unhearing. Connected as they were, his mind reached to Mairon’s in a tender gesture without the need to glance in his direction, a subtle support that rang like a promise. 

“-can attack, but I will require-”

“Then you shall have the additional support,” Melkor waved his hand dismissively. “Arrange with Gothmog all you require. Now begone, Captain.”

The orc bowed deeply, hitting the orc beside him as well until she bowed similarly, before he and the others made their way off without sparing a glance toward the Maia who festered mere meters away. 

As the door shut behind them, heavy and loud as it echoed through the near empty chamber, Mairon’s fingers twitched. The quill snapped in his usually delicate grasp, ink splattering on the nearly completed map making him curse under his breath. He slumped in his chair slightly, his hand pressing to his forehead and fingers rubbing against his temples. 

“Mairon-”

“I am fine,” he spat, the words full of more venom that he had intended. Immediately he recanted, not daring look at the Vala lest it betray the emotion in his eyes. “Apologies, my Lord.. I ought watch my tongue, I know.”

The Vala rose from his throne, crossing to the other with nary a sound despite the weight of his boots upon the stone floor. His hands, usually cold against Mairon’s skin, were warm and comforting as he cradled the Maia’s face and lifted it so that they met one another’s eyes. 

“Do not lie to me. I have known you too long and too deeply to know when you are truly unaffected.”

Mairon swallowed thickly, his honeyed eyes struggling to hold his Master’s gaze. He was beyond such things, was he not? Through each passing century he had done far worse to captives than had been done to him and batted not an eye in response. Truly, he had thought the idea invigorating! To watch as an elf struggled under the hold of many, brutes who would tear them open and make them beg… But to have this done to him? Him? A Maia, one of the Ainur? The lieutenant to the Dark Lord Melkor, rightful King of Arda? It was unthinkable. 

Closing his eyes, Mairon exhaled a breath as if it might release some tension within this pitiful form of his. It did not serve to ease him in the slightest. His Master’s gloved thumb caressed over the bone of his cheek, and he couldn’t help but incline his face into the touch. 

“I will attend to your work personally, if you truly fear falling behind,” Melkor teased, which earned a small laugh and smile from Mairon who finally looked to him again. At last he resembled his usual self, a hint of defiance in his eye. 

“You would ruin my filing system, my Lord.”

The Vala bent in and brushed his lips against Mairon’s forehead then. “So I would. I haven’t the head for paperwork,” he chuckled. “Come, this can wait. I will entrust all necessary action to our dear balrog captain. I’m sure he will be happy to assist.”

Mairon rolled his eyes at that. “Oh, surely. He just adores being in charge of your entire empire,” he said, words dripping in obvious sarcasm. “Gothmog truly does not get enough credit for his service.” 

“Aye, he does not.”

Melkor rounded the desk and offered his hand to the other aiding him to his feet. Wrapping his arm around Mairon’s thin shoulders, he lead his lieutenant, his Maia, his lover, from the throne room at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 will be the final chapter, and I've already started it so theoretically it won't take very long until the next update. Thanks for your patience and for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @quinngreyy


	4. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melkor's wrath is appropriately bestowed.

The meeting was called for the late evening, after dinner and final orders for the next day had been discussed thoroughly. Upon his iron throne, Melkor reclined with a glass of wine, watching as his generals clambered into the hall to receive the instruction of their Lord. Mairon had been sent away upon strict instruction that he was to rest. There was no need for him to attend this meeting, despite being the topic of discussion. 

“My Lord,” one of the orcs spoke once everyone had been assembled, his disfigured face bowed as he stepped forward. A few others behind him murmured their own greetings, shifting their heavy weights back and forth where they stood at the dias. “Ya called us, and here we came.”

Melkor tipped back his head, draining the glass of the remaining red liquid, the colour staining his greyed lips like blood. The goblet was cast into the crowd with a flick of his wrist, striking one of the creatures upside his ugly head. With a dark glare, the Vala rose to his feet. 

“My lieutenant faced brutal hands,” he recounted, descending the steps down from his throne. “Brutal, filthy hands. I should let you all burn for your transgressions.”

“But my Lord-“ 

With a swift sweep of his hand, the orc who spoke went flying across the room, hitting the wall with a deafening thud. “You beasts defiled my second in command and thought you would get away with it? Wretched, foul creatures. Daft and undeserving,” he spat. 

The ground seemed to tremble under their feet, the thick odor of sulfur as the magmatic rock just beneath the hard stone floor began to churn. Soon, it was almost too hot for their bare and even their booted feet to stand still. The orcs began to hop and jump, shouting, begging for the Vala to cease his torment. 

“Did Mairon beg you to stop?”

Instead, the ground grew even hotter until the orcs were trying to force one another down, if only to get off their feet. All trying desperately to escape the pain. Melkor laughed at their cries, and in an instant the floor grew cold once more. Begging creatures crawled to him, seeking forgiveness, yet he was not finished with them yet. 

“Which among you started the assault?”

The beasts began to argue amongst themselves, shoving until one orc fell on his hands and knees in front of their Master. His beady, clouded eyes looked up at the other only briefly before his head fell again. 

“Captain, truly? Your judgement is far more sound than this,” Melkor shook his head in disappointment. Raising his blackened hand, his fingers began to clench into a fist and the rest watched in abject horror. Whatever it was that the Vala was doing was impossible to see at first, but soon it became clear as the orc’s eyes bulged, his head seeming to collapse in on itself. As Melkor’s fingers closed in tight to his palm, the creature’s head burst, viscera spraying the onlookers. 

“Who’s next?”

—

Nearly an hour past until one final orc was left, pressed back against the exit door. Each and every one before him had been dealt a punishment fitting of the crime they had committed. “Come,” Melkor commanded, snapping his fingers and pointing to the space in front of him as if the other were a dog. 

“Master…” the orc mumbled, knowing it would be futile to avoid his own sentencing. He approached hesitantly, stopping just short of where the Vala had pointed to. 

Melkor smirked, a wicked gleam in his gaze. “Tell me, Commander, does this not feel just as a punishment? Should I spare you?”

Despite himself, the orc spoke anyway. “Ye the one who gived the order, Master,” he said, quiet. “Don’t see why we gotta pay the price for foll’in ye orders…”

“Because Mairon can never know,” Melkor grinned, and with a step forward, his blackened hand wrapped around the orc’s throat, nails digging into flesh, and yanked the orc’s trachea clear from inside his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO POST THIS FINAL CHAPTER. Y’all deserved a longer chapter with more... but writer’s block is hell and I just wanted to finish this story. 
> 
> find me on tumblr @quinngreyy

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for very caring and attentative Melkor, and then very furious and smiting Melkor.


End file.
